


Solid Proof

by orphan_account



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Banter, Embarrassment, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Public Humiliation, Public Masturbation, Shame, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:20:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7863373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murr gets a stiffy right before they were supposed to start shooting. Joe and Q make Sal deal with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solid Proof

“She’s pretty hot, huh?” Murr asks.

He nudges Sal with his elbow and points, and Sal turns to look out the coffee shop window. She was average height. Shoulder length red hair. _Great_ ass. The woman in question was also likely half their age.

“You’re such a pervert. You know that, right.”

They hear Joe and Q sputter and choke in disgust over their earpieces.

“All I did was say she was hot. I never once said anything untoward about her body or her appearance! I was merely appreciating her presence as she walked by.”

“Oh, is that what the kids are calling it now?” Sal snaps.

“I’ll bet Murray’s thinkin’ he wants to ‘appreciate her presence’ back at his place!” Joe quips.

“You guys are being so unfair,” Murr whines.

“I bet the motherfucker is hard right now,” Q says, only half joking.

Sal tears his gaze away from the direction of the camera that fed back to their friends and looks back at Murr.

“ _No._ Jesus Christ, are you? Are you fuckin’ hard in a public place, at work? There are _children_ walking by with their grandparents. _Respectable_ people have been passing by all day. And you’ve got a stiffy from lookin’ at some girl’s ass.”

Murr’s eyes go wide, and he puts up his hands in a defensive gesture.

“No, I most certainly do not. You guys are taking this way too fucking far!”

There’s a moment of silence, and Murr thinks he’s in the clear until Joe speaks up.

“Check his dick, Sal. I want some solid proof that little Murr isn’t gonna make an appearance and ruin our episode.”

“ _What?_ ” Murr squeals.

“Uncross those legs, buddy,” Q instructs. “Let’s settle this and move on.”

“Settle?” he sputters. “None of you are coming anywhere near my junk!”

“The more you protest, the guiltier you look,” Sal says.

“ _Are you_ _serious_?”

“Look, I don’t wanna see your dick any more than anyone else does, but I really don’t think TruTv will want a fuckin’ pervert at full mast on their television show.”

“Shit, you’re really serious,” Murr asks, panic creeping into his voice.

“Quit stalling!” Joe orders.

And hell, _this_ could be a punishment all its own, Murr realizes. It certainly feels like one. The humiliation tactics at play were just as intentional. Trapped, he slowly lowers his right leg down to the ground. Sal arches a brow at him, almost as if he was waiting for Murray to confess on his own or possibly out of disgust for everything altogether. Murr swallows, and Sal blinks before looking down at his crotch. Murr feels his face heat.

“Well, Sal? What’s the verdict?” Q asks.

“Jesus, he could pound nails with that thing.”

Q and Joe groan in disappointment.

“That’s pretty messed up, bro,” Joe says.

“I—I don’t know what to do. I can’t shoot like this!” Murr says, obviously distressed.

“The last thing we need is a scandal on our hands,” Q notes.

Murr turns to Sal.

“You’ve gotta help. I’ll-I’ll owe you. Anything. Just get me out of this!”

“Oh, you owe me big time,” Sal says. “Get rid of that thing before the cameras start rolling.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying. It’s just hard.”

“No shit.”

Murr puts his head in his hands after realizing what he just said.

“God, no, I didn’t mean…Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight right now.”

“Guys?” Sal asks. “Is there like a bathroom in here where this fuckin’ asshole can jerk off?”

“Can he even walk?” Joe taunts.

“Cover him until he’s in the bathroom,” Q says. “I don’t want anyone to see him like this.”

“What the hell am _I_ supposed to do exactly?”

“Sal, give him your hoodie,” Q says. “He can tie it around his waist.”

“What! No way! I’d have to burn it after.”

“Sal, he’s holding up the goddamn shoot. We can’t do anything until the ferret drops a load,” Joe says.

“I’m done with this,” Q says, laughing incredulously. “I’m takin’ my ear piece out.”

Joe laughs.

“Me too. Good luck, pal!”

There’s nothing but static in their ears. Murr and Sal follow suit.

“I cannot believe…!” Sal grumbles as he wriggles out of his favorite hoodie. “There.”

He thrusts it into Murr’s hands. He is slow to grab it, and Sal shoves it at him as though he already wanted distance between him and it, knowing what it was about to be used for.

“There’s people, and…”

“It’s just the crew clearing the place for the cameras. I thought you’d get off on that shit anyway.”

“I—”

Murr stands on wobbly legs and ties the jacket over the sizable bulge in his jeans. He bites his lip and moans involuntarily when he takes his first step as his jeans rub up against him. His cheeks feel like fire. Sal huffs angrily and grabs Murr by his upper arm, dragging him to the men’s room at the back of the coffee shop. Sal locks the door behind them.

“How am I supposed to get off if you’re standing there?”

Sal purses his lips and crosses his arms.

“If having someone watching you meant you couldn’t get off, then your dick would’ve deflated the minute Q called you out. We don’t fucking have time for your games, Murray. People are out there waiting for you.”

With shaking hands and head down, Murr undoes the button on his jeans and his zipper. Sal's hoodie drops to the floor. He pulls his jeans down to his thighs and grasps his dick, half to hide it from Sal’s direct gaze and half to relieve the building tension. He gives a few experimental strokes.

“Well, get to it,” Sal says brusquely, gaze deliberately averted.

“I’m trying, okay! This is weird! I don’t even have any porn or lube to move things along.”

“There’s a soap dispenser right there. I’m sure that cheese dick could use some.”

A clear bead of precum leaks from his tip, and Murr whimpers. A look of dawning comes over Sal’s face.

“Holy shit, that’s why you’re still hard. ‘Cause we were yelling at you. You’re a shame whore!”

Sal’s laugh echoes in the enclosed room, and Murr thinks he might cry from the mixture of a lack of sexual gratification, the shaming Sal was providing, and humiliation at being found out.  Murr begins leaking so much that he ends up not needing the soap after all. He starts pumping his cock in earnest while Sal checks messages on his phone.

“It's no wonder you get punished on the show the most," Sal continues. "Sometimes it's like you _want_ to get punished. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I-I can’t help it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Sometimes I-I just can’t control it. This is different. This is—I fucking _hate_ this.”

A few tears sneak out from under his lashes, and Sal decides to pity him an iota or two. Not that he was going to ever let this go, mind you.

“Murray, you’re a fuckin’ mess here. Look at yourself,” Sal says, voice taking on the tone of an adult scolding a disobedient child.

“I know, I know, I know. I’m so close, Sal.”

Sal turns his gaze towards him in time to see the muscles in his abs and thighs contract as pleasurable tremors shot through him. Murr’s eyes flutter shut and his mouth hangs open for a moment or two. This time, Sal doesn't look away.

“I can tell,” Sal rasps.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Murr repeats.

“You should be. You did a bad thing, and now you’re being punished for it.”

Murr’s been thrown out of planes, beaten like a piñata, tattooed, and shaved, but Sal’s certain that this private punishment is his worst. And even when his hand is a blur, he never stops his litany of sorrys. They fall from his lips like poison, and something in Sal’s groin heats.

“Almost,” Murr begs.

Sal licks his lips. Murr was obviously waiting for him to say some magic sentence that would end this thing, but he wasn’t sure he wanted that responsibility or knowledge. Because what exactly does it imply when you’ve got the ability to make someone come on command? Sal swallows hard.

“Sal, I’m—”

“Murray, we have more important shit to do than wait for you to come.”

“ _Fuck_.”

Murr comes hard and fast, completely forgetting to turn towards the toilet or grab paper towel. He manages to get most of it on Sal’s hoodie, which had fallen at his feet when he undressed. Sal gets a momentary impulse to take it and rub his face in it as if he were a bad dog, but the impulses passes at about the same time Murr’s head reconnects to his body.

“Wash your hands,” Sal orders, pointing at the sink.

He clears his throat and hopes Murr didn’t notice how husky he’d sounded. Murr washes for a whole minute, and Sal is sure that that was only for his benefit. Murr pulls up his pants and refastens them before turning around and grabbing the soiled hoodie between two fingers.

“I am so—,” Murr begins.

“Sorry. I know. Burn it, keep it. I don’t care. Just…We’re done here. I never want to talk about this day ever again. It’s over.”

Murr looks hurt and fifty shades of embarrassed. His head nervously twitches to the left.

“Right.”

“You’ll make it up to me. Don’t worry.”

“I will. You _know_ I will.”

Sal can’t help but think of all the ways Murr could make this up to him. He decides he likes having power over Murr after all.


End file.
